


wanted it as much as i did

by hoard



Series: across the multiverse [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Fusion, High School, In Media Res, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Rivalry, Slurs, Swimming, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 18:53:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19932868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoard/pseuds/hoard
Summary: Turning to look back at Draco, Harry glances down at himself, taking in the angry marks along his flank. He presses them lightly with his fingertips. What does he think, Harry wonders. Poor working-class lad like Harry, he just ends up with bruises all the time?





	wanted it as much as i did

**Author's Note:**

  * For [milkandhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkandhoney/gifts).



Coach has only got the one guest bedroom, something Blaise and Theo dash off into the moment Coach bids them goodnight. Harry looks to Draco, the two of them still so uneasy around one after their fight in the locker room earlier that week. They make an awkward trek into the living room to do up their sleeping bags; Harry is careful not to let Draco be at his back. 

“He always gets like this,” Draco says, voice upbeat and kind, as if nothing's happened. Casual banter before they turn in for the night, except Harry’s been on the receiving end of this trick before, knows just how quickly Draco’s kind words can turn into sharp, wounding things. He looks at Draco wearily as he gently shakes out the extra blanket onto the couch he’s claimed as his own. “When the boys come over,” Draco carries on, clarifying. “Blaise reckons it’s because we’re the only ones he has over. Right lonely bastard.”

Harry doesn’t care for Draco to talk about Dumbledore that way, not when their coach is the only one who actually ever seems happy that Harry’s there at all. “Dumbledore’s not lonely,” he says, looking down for a moment to undo the buttons on his shirt. His mother had insisted that he dress up, took this to be a formal event. All the other boys had come in their stubbies and t-shirts. Harry might’ve been embarrassed to be the odd one out, had Dumbledore not smiled and remarked on how handsome he looked, appreciating the effort. “He’s got us.”

Draco huffs out a laugh, disbelieving, but Harry doesn’t care. He turns around to take off his shirt, hiding himself from Draco. “Woah,” Draco says, letting out a hiss. “Shite. was that from me?.” 

Turning to look back at Draco, Harry glances down at himself, taking in the angry marks along his flank. He presses them lightly with his fingertips. Harry can’t even bring himself to take in Draco's reaction. What does he think, Harry wonders. Poor working-class lad like Harry, he just ends up with bruises all the time? Fights dime a dozen? 

Harry fucking hates him. “Doesn’t hurt anymore,” is all he can think to say, before he turns back around again and starts to undo his belt, stepping out of his shoes. 

“Wonder how popular I’d be if I snapped the rib of our best swimmer?” Draco muses. 

Harry turns back to look at him then, fingers working at his fly. “I’m not the best swimmer,” he says. “You are.”

Draco looks down too, eyes sweeping back to harry’s face. “Isn’t that why Dumbledore brought you here? On account of you being so much better than us?” Harry isn’t quite sure what to say, so he swallows to buy himself some time. Draco smiles, mild, and looks back down at his own belt, hands speeding up in undoing it. “Don’t worry about it. No choice but to accept it, is there?”

“You’re a great swimmer.” Harry steps closer to where Draco’s bed is made up on the floor, Draco standing on the other side of it. He doesn’t know why he’s trying to reassure him, except for the fact that it’s the truth. Harry might be beating him in training, but Draco’s the one who’s gone to actual competitions, has been in the circuit his whole life, a local legend. 

Draco kicks his shorts off. He’s left standing there in his pants and socks. “Coach reckons I’ve been getting complacent, lazy. That I’m too comfortable,” he says the words in Dumbledore’s posh southern accent, a perfect mimicry of an accusation that must have been leveled against him a thousand times for Draco to be so good at it.

“Well,” Harry starts, an idea coming to him, exciting in its possibilities. “I could help you? Push you a bit.”

Draco stops in pulling off his socks, leaving him stood in just the one, the other dangling from his hand. “What?” he asks. “Like — you’d help me improve?”

Harry grins. “Yeah, for sure.” He starts to push down his own trousers, knowing that he needs to fold them right so that his mother won't fuss at the state of him when she picks him up tomorrow. “One team,” he says, trying his own imitation of Dumbledore. 

In one quick, fluid movement, Draco pushes his pants off, exposing himself to Harry. It’s a movement that Harry only catches out of the corner of his eye, and it has him doing a double-take, sure that he must be seeing things. He looks up and just — stares, at where Draco’s stood with his dick out at half-mast, close enough for Harry to reach out and touch if he was of a mind to. 

He takes a step closer, unthinking. 

“You’re standing on my mattress,” Draco notes. 

Harry swallows. “Oh,” he licks his lips, laughing a bit. “Sorry, I’ll just —” 

“I said get your filthy haji feet of my mattress.” Draco’s voice is clipped, the rage behind it simmering. 

Harry steps backwards in a hurry, the backs of his knees connecting with the edge of the couch. He drops down heavily to sit on it. 

“You don’t belong here, potter,” Draco says. “And when I beat you at Drumstrang, Dumbledore’s gonna take your scholarship away and give it to another one of his monkeys. You’d help me?” he spits. “Fuck you.”

The door at the end of the hall opens and Draco drops down onto his sleeping bag, shifting his pillow into his lap to hide his nakedness. The whole time he’d been berating Harry, he hadn’t softened an inch.

“Hey,” Dumbledore barks, taking in the both of them. “I told you to go to sleep, alright? Now go to sleep.”

Without looking at one another, the both of them say, “Ok coach,” and that’s the end of it.

**Author's Note:**

> fusion with abc-tv's **[barracuda](https://aviateurs.tumblr.com/post/147822169383/we-were-supposed-to-be-there-together-that-was)**.


End file.
